Lyrics It Was Written - Dave East

It Was Written

Six million ways to die
(Took a lot to get this Rollie nigga)
Six million ways to get rich
(Huh, hah)
Everybody keep tellin' me, «Make a club record.
You ain’t trappin' no more—stop makin' drug records.
You got a daughter 'bout to come—stop makin' thug records.»
I brought that money back fast, I had the plug flexing
Welcome to Harlem, el Barrio, that’s the drug section
Hit your bitch with my jeans on, ain’t making love naked
I got love for my loco but I know cuz reckless
I ain’t gotta sleep in the projects, I did enough stressing
My father was a rolling stone but taught me one lesson
Do your dirt by yourself, your friends be the ones telling
I knew it broke my mother’s heart to know her son selling
I had coke in my dresser, trifling as ever
I had a dream Biggie featured me on Life After
I be with my same niggas, I don’t really like rappers
Niggas can’t make a song for nothing but they nice actors
Go and get a movie role, low bagging up tuna rolls, raw shit
I come from a block where you seen it but never saw shit
I be at the juice bar, my wheat grass and bark shit
My younging just came from up north, he want to park shit
Tryna teach him something bout life and how we started
Lower class poverty, homies from jail calling me
Playing the number everyday but never hit the lottery
Liquor store on every corner, might as well get drunk
I remember that free lunch wasn’t shooting, we would jump stones
Niggas like the end of the blunt, traps load up
I told papi I got him by the end of the month
I was thinking bout 550's with the cinnamon guts
These shots’ll blow your mind away, now your memory dust
In memory of, I got a JF Kennedy buzz
Presidential called enterprise, I need another rental
Tryna take a package down to North Carolina
Maybe buy some Ferragamo, I’m so focused on the commas
If you never been broke it’s gon' be hard to feel me
Only Allah get my vote, it’s gon' be hard to kill me
They say practice make perfect, we at it every day
Thinking about that consignment, sometimes I never paid
It was written I’m gifted, homie come learn something
Conversations bout paper homie, let’s burn something
It was written I’m gifted, homie come learn something
Conversations bout paper homie, let’s burn something
It’s hard to stop what’s already in motion
I ain’t gotta hit your blunt, I’ve already been smoking
G Star denims on my Shmurda shit
In '08 my mental was really on some murder shit
Cause nothing was working out
Just to pass the time started working out
Me and my nigga Jay Black from way back
He a Bronx nigga, met him in Queens
Butch crib, met up with fiends
Imagine Nas signed you, hell of a dream
Somebody pinch me
Promise nothing they say ever getting to me
Used to watch House Party, now Kid N Play listen to me
This that talk that make the hustlers want to open shop
This that stash house talk, don’t let 'em know the spot
This that talk that got my city wanting to rap again
This that all black everything like an African
This that middle of the summer in a trench coat
Glock 19 reminding them of how you been broke
If you never been broke it’s gon' be hard to feel me
Only Allah get my vote, it’s gon' be hard to kill me
They say practice make perfect, we at it every day
Thinking about that consignment, sometimes I never paid
It was written I’m gifted, homie come learn something
Conversations bout paper homie, let’s burn something
It was written I’m gifted, homie come learn something
Conversations bout paper homie, let’s burn something
I talked my way right up out the projects nigga
Put your mind to it, anything is possible haha
From a hole in the wall, yeah
Now we in the presidential suite man
Top floor, fly over your bus, nigga
Harlem, yeah